


I'm a go-getter guy with a gun on my hip

by everybodyknowseverybodydies



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Early Days, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodyknowseverybodydies/pseuds/everybodyknowseverybodydies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smooth line he had prepared slipped away when he realized his tongue would rather match the knots in his stomach than cooperate. Mostly because hot damn her eyes were a lot bluer up close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a go-getter guy with a gun on my hip

“Hi.”

She looked up, eyebrows raised. “Hi. What can I get for you?”

The smooth line he had prepared slipped away when he realized his tongue would rather match the knots in his stomach than cooperate. Mostly because _hot damn_ her eyes were a lot bluer up close. He’d thought green, but it might be the light… “Er – what’s your favourite?” Quentin asked, trying desperately to maintain a cool demeanour.

“My favourite… what exactly…?” Her expression was the exact opposite of impressed.

He shrugged, leaning against the counter. “Flower?”

The girl on the other side of the counter gave him a pitying smile, resting her elbows on the smooth wood. “Right now? The ones from Alice in Wonderland that shoo unwanted guests away.”

Ouch. Quick, quick, recover – “That’s a shame. Do you get many unwanted guests around here?”

“At least one today.” She arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be collecting evidence across the street, officer?”

“He’s supposed to be asking for surveillance tapes you might have,” Captain Harriman interrupted as the bell above the door chimed to announce his arrival.

She smirked slightly. “And I was just saying I’d check.”

Quentin felt his face go red. He turned around, shoes squeaking on the linoleum tiles, and cleared his throat. “So, um, sir – does it look like the Black Canary is involved in this one?”

“This is out of her known circle of work, as I said when we arrived at the scene, so no.” The captain gave him a scathing look. “If you had been paying attention instead of mooning over a girl, you might have heard that.”

He opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t mooning because that would be ridiculous, but before he could respond she was back and holding out an envelope. “The manager thought you might be wanting a copy of this,” she explained sweetly. “I hope it’s helpful.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said, taking the envelope and flashing what he hoped was a suave smile.

Captain Harriman snatched it from him, glaring. “Lance, if you’re done here, we’ve got things to do.”

He reddened even further, following him out again and trying to ignore the smirk on her face as the door shut behind him. Alright. So that had gone less than well. “I was about to get that from her.” He sneaked a glance at the numbers over the door, trying to remember the address so he could find the flower shop again when he was off-duty.

“Right. Focus, Lance. Hinton’s going to get promoted, and at this rate, it’ll be without you.” Captain Harriman glared, clearing his throat pointedly. “Stop gawking through the window and get back to work!”

He jumped. “I’m not – I’m not – yes sir.”

“You don’t catch criminals by hitting on possible witnesses, Lance; you do it by working your sorry ass off.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, but he was distracted again – this time by something entirely different.

There was a black feather on the sidewalk that he was sure hadn’t been there before.

._.

Technically speaking, Quentin was off-duty right now. In actuality, he liked to think a cop was never off-duty, which would explain why he was crouching on a fire escape at midnight with a crick in his neck and a pair of handcuffs in hand and dear Lord he needed to break in these shoes before they broke his ankles. He shifted his jaw and slowly stood, trying to regain feeling in his legs before they went all pins-and-needles-and-ginger-ale, surveying the alley below. This was the Canary’s usual spot for any sort of late-night rendezvous according to the file he’d swiped off the captain’s desk, and if he could at least corner her long enough to see what she’d been doing so far out of her way –

Something like a pair of feet slammed into his back, and the next thing he knew he was dangling upside down, his own handcuffs linking his ankle to the fire escape. “You know, the thing about birds,” purred a feminine voice from somewhere above him, “is that it’s hard to find a position above them.”

“What the – hey!” He twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive vigilante, but all he could see was a pair of black boots and fishnets. “Let me down!”

“So you can arrest me? Oh, perfect, just a moment and I’ll have you down in no time.” She snorted. “No thank you. Ask your questions, officer, and if you’re quick an anonymous caller might tip off your precinct about the officer hanging by his foot from the third floor.”

He scowled, but he did stop trying to get up, wheezing slightly and making a mental note to add crunches to his morning routine. “What were you doing on Fifth Street?”

“Working.”

“But it’s outside your usual circle of involvement.”

“Mmm, imagine that, a woman doing something you can’t predict.”

Quentin blinked a couple times as the blood flow to his head built. “Why do you even call yourself the ‘Black Canary’?”

“Well, why do you call yourself a cop?”

“Because I am!” he protested, ears popping a little. “That doesn’t answer my question!”

Silence.

He twisted, finally managing to reach the bars of the fire escape. Under his breath, Quentin swore aloud – she was gone.

And he was stuck. So much for a productive night.

._.

“What the hell were you thinking?” demanded Captain Harriman. “When you are off-duty, Lance, you stay off-duty. You do not go chasing after vigilantes, you do not make up inane reasons to have your own personal stake-out, and you _absolutely_ do not carry a pair of handcuffs!”

He stared intently at his shoes. “Yes sir.”

“As of now, you are off the Canary case. Am I clear?”

“What?” Quentin scrambled to think of a good argument. “But – but I saw her!”

Harriman silenced him with a glare. “At this point, Lance, I’m having a hard time trusting your word. You’re off it. I’m not changing my mind. You can do something useful this morning while you get your head the right way up again.”

He found himself outside the precinct with no memory of having walked out, a scrap of paper clutched in one hand, and an envelope in the other. Well… if he was reduced to playing delivery boy, at least he could take some comfort in the fact that he’d be going back to the flower shop. Maybe that girl would be working today.

_Fingers crossed, Lance._

The bell above the door jingled when he walked in, and he had to swallow and remind himself why he was there when he saw the cloud of reddish curls behind the counter. He cleared his throat. “Uh… hello,” he tried.

She looked up, smirking faintly as recognition flashed across her face. “Oh, hello again. I suppose today you’ll want to know my favourite colour?”

“I wouldn’t object to hearing it.” He set the thick envelope on the counter. “I just came to deliver these tapes. Thanks for letting us borrow them.”

Eyebrows raised, she pulled it over to her, the light reflecting briefly off the nametag pinned to her shirt – _Dinah_. “Didn’t find anything you liked?”

“What?” His eyes snapped back to her face as he desperately hoped she hadn’t seen his not-so-subtle appraisal. “Oh! Oh, uh, yeah, it’s fine. We made copies,” he assured her. “Just figured you’d need the originals back for your records.”

“Right…” She slid the envelope onto a shelf under the register and rested her elbows on the edge of the countertop. “And you’re lingering because…?”

Quentin straightened a little, trying to look less like a man smitten and more like a cop. “Maybe I’m thinking about buying some flowers.”

“For a girlfriend?”

“Not yet.” He did his best to hold a straight face, proud of how quickly he thought of that one.

She laughed, and he could have sworn it was a sound he could listen to more often – low and teasing, like she genuinely found him amusing (which would be a first as his humour usually went unappreciated). “Is that so?”

Heart thudding wildly and mouth dry, he forced himself to pull his hands out of his pockets. “Want to go to dinner? Or a drink or something – unless you don’t drink? Which is fine –”

Dinah held up a hand to silence him, an amused smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “That,” she said, “sounds like a date. I don’t really do… dating.”

“Then it’s just hanging out,” he suggested. “As… something.”

“Acquaintances, officer. We’ve met twice.” She smiled, a whole smile this time, blue-green eyes lit up. “As acquaintances, I think a dinner would be lovely.”

Quentin swallowed, staring. “Really? I mean – yeah, sure, sounds good. I can come by here whenever you close tonight?” He nodded, backing towards the door. “Absolutely!”

She watched him stumble over a pot, biting back a laugh. “Yellow,” she called as he left. “And blue.” When he paused, turning curiously, she smiled. “My favourite colours.”


End file.
